


God Amongst Men

by Racey



Category: Bleach
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22279753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Racey/pseuds/Racey
Summary: Ichigo's boring life is flipped upside down when he's told the truth about his heritage. A whole new world is presented, taking him through a wild adventure.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	1. Ab Initio

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

"Lord Aizen, are you sure this is the right choice?"

"You're being very forward today, Urahara."

"I apologize, my Lord. I'm only worried for the future."

"This _is_ for the future."

"I understand."

Urahara watched as the Keeper, or ruler of all, Lord Aizen, reached his hand forward over the precipice they stood near. Call it a ledge of clouds, if you would. The all-powerful brunet stood tall, his intimidating form cloaked in a long, pristine white robe, trimmed with gold around the hems of the sleeves, collar and trailing along the ends. His feet were clad in golden boots, and a sword made of the purest of diamonds rested at his left hip, the sheath made of the most impermeable steel, the hilt made of onyx. His brown hair was wavy, but impeccable, even with a single, stubborn strand hanging over his high brow. His dark brown eyes sparkled with unspeakable amounts of energy, only broadcasting his immense wealth of strength. As the Keeper, Sosuke Aizen, held his hand out, what appeared to be a free-floating puddle of ice-blue water shimmered into existence at the tips of his fingers. It wavered and produced a shrill ringing sound, like trembling crystals.

Urahara had the urge to move forward and inspect the strange, watery formation, but held his curiosity at bay. Barely. Aizen's fingers moved as if he were playing a harp and the formation solidified, morphing into a looking glass. The image it displayed was of the intended resting places for the four ancient Storm Element gods. The blond man shifted uneasily. After what they had just gone through, he didn't believe laying the elements to rest was the wisest decision, but Aizen was the Keeper and ruler of all worlds, meaning, what he said was law.

The resting places were each different locations on Earth, but all deeply ensconced and cleverly hidden from plain sight. Made of an old stone – one that had been around long before Urahara had come into being, and able to withstand any form of damage, whether natural or man-made – the "tombs" were indestructible. Each god had its own tomb and would lie inert until summoned once more. In Urahara's opinion, they were needed at all times, but again, that was just _his_ opinion. The Master of the Netherworld and his Norwhul minions were bound to wreak havoc on the Earth again. It was only a matter of time. However, Aizen must have something grand in mind if he was giving the protective elements a rest. Urahara _did_ edge forward when the brunet began muttering under his breath in the tongue of days of old, his deep voice echoing hugely over the vast land of cloud that made up the man's ethereal kingdom. The blond's heart rate picked up as the air took on a dense texture and shimmered, like a heat induced mirage. The images in the looking glass showed huge slabs of that same indestructible stone rolling in front of the entrances of all the tombs. In turn, it caused the hairs all over Urahara's body to stand erect. It was over. Aizen's voice died down, the last of his words carrying on the wind like a haunting melody. He slowly turned and faced the blond, his eyes holding infinite wisdom.

"Kisuke Urahara."

"Yes, my Lord," Urahara replied, head instantly lowering into a deep, acknowledging bow.

"I will place in your hands the safekeeping of Earth. Build me an army to protect the humans dwelling there."

The blond's mouth dropped open in shock, even as his head gradually lifted from its former submissive pose. "M-my Lord?"

Aizen's brown eyes twinkled as the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile. "An army. They may be human, but they must be _extraordinary_ humans. I will tolerate nothing less."

"But-but-"

"This is not like you."

Urahara stopped and took a deep breath. He was indeed panicking. Aizen had never placed so much responsibility on him all at once, and it unnerved him. He was to create an army to protect the Earth? _How?_ It seemed an impossible task. One that loomed ahead of him like a yawning cavern. With a sigh and a slight shake of blond hair, he glanced at the dissolving looking glass. If this was his task, he would certainly perform it to the best of his ability; it was only his nature. He gave his attention back to his Lord and nodded.

"I will do my best."

XOXOXO

Panting desperately, she plastered herself to the jagged cave wall she found herself running for her life through. It was dark. It was freezing cold. It was _terrifying_. Her heart felt like it was bulldozing her ribs, and her chest ached from the icy air filling her lungs. As she paused and listened to her surroundings, she could hear the steady drip of moisture hitting the cave floor, the distant echoing of scurrying rodents, but nothing of her pursuer. Air puffed in front of her like small, ghostly thunder clouds as she tried her hardest to catch her breath and keep silent all at the same time. She clutched her precious cargo to her chest, tears forming in the corners of her slanted, golden eyes. If she didn't get the prophecy to the hidden ancestral room, the world would be doomed. She absolutely could _not_ allow that to happen.

She ducked her head around the darkened corner and strained her eyes and ears, struggling to pick up any indications that she was still being chased. She heard nor saw any, so she threw the hood to her maroon-colored cloak over her head of vibrant violet hair. She had already rid herself of her noisy boots, which meant she was currently barefoot, but that wasn't important. What _was_ important was the scroll tucked against her breasts. She needed to hide it away before she was discovered. That thought in mind, she hurried on, her running steps silent against the cold, hard cave floor. Dirt crept between her toes, making her cringe with disgust, but still she ran. She slipped around another corner, this one lit by a torch affixed to the wall. As she passed it, she held up a hand and silenced the flame, causing it to shudder once before flickering into darkness. She knew this cave like the tip of her tongue, so light was unneeded. She skidded to a stop at the sound of a distant howl, eyes widening and heart racing. That wasn't good. That wasn't good _at all_.

She licked her lips and fell into an alternation between swift walking and brief jogging, glancing over her shoulder every few seconds. Fear trickled over her skin like ice water and parched her throat. She was petrified, but she also had a job to do. She rounded yet another corner and came to a patch of cave wall that glowed blue, only seen by those of the Seer race. She placed a small hand against it as she took a peek over her shoulder one more time. Nothing seemed to be following her, giving her the go ahead to open the hidden ancestral room. She hoped the cave corridor stayed empty until she reemerged. Although, to the average person, it would seem like she appeared out of thin air.

The wall disintegrated, revealing a torchlit stairwell. She bustled down them, still desperately clutching the scroll of prophecy to her chest. She'd made it! Just at the bottom of the stairs were the ancestral tombs, where she would be able to hide the prophecy for the future generation of Seers. It was most urgent that they find it, or else the Earth would be doomed. No amount of protection from the ancient storm elements would help, either. She reached the end of the stairwell and bent at the waist, resting her palms against her knees. She'd been running for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time, and now that she was at the end of her mission, the aches and pains were beginning to take a toll on her. Her chest and lungs burned, and when she had fallen earlier on her knees, she'd scraped them. They were beginning to sting as well. Fussing about it now, however, would serve no good. She straightened her back and hastily made her way to one corner of the huge, square room that was littered with stone monuments and statues of her predecessors. The floor and walls were covered with a light dusting of cobwebs, the air stale. She quickly found the statue of her own mother, a tall woman with flowing black hair and piercing gold eyes. The statue didn't show that, but she remembered her mother's face like she'd only died yesterday, instead of over one hundred years before. The statue was old and crumbling around the edges, but the woman's fierce features were still visible. She went to her knees, wincing at the singing pain before setting the scroll at her mother's feet. She bowed once, then closed her eyes and began chanting.

" _Protege nos. Salva nos. Nobis._ "

A few more chants of those phrases, and the stone at the bottom of the statue began separating, forming a compartment just big enough for the scroll to fit inside. She lifted it, sticking it into the small space before whispering her thanks and climbing to her feet. She swayed unsteadily for a second, vertigo overcoming her senses and blurring her vision. Then she shook her head and watched as the compartment closed and sealed on its own. She sent one last reverent look to the statue of her mother before stepping over to the stairs and setting off at a trot on her way up. She could breathe easily now that she'd done what she'd been sent to do.

Mission accomplished.

As she reached the top of the stairs, the hairs on the back of her neck immediately stood on end at the sound of another howl, this time much closer. She rushed from the opening in the wall and with a swift snap of her fingers, the wall reformed itself, jagged and moldy. The faint glowing blue was there again, but only she could see it. Rather than tempt fate, however, she left that part of the cave and rounded a corner, only to come to an abrupt stop. Eyes wide and filled with terror, all she could think was how happy she was to have reached her goal before coming face to face with this being. A low growl scattered the relative silence of the cave and echoed, bouncing off the walls and making the noise that much more ominous.

"Calm yourself, Krose," a rumbling voice issued from beneath the hood of a black cloak.

The form was hunched over, but still a bit towering. Flames licked from under the cloak where hands and feet were supposed to be, but still, at the end of one, long sleeve, a thick, black, leather leash led to the frightening Netherworld hound at the figure's side. The hound growled and thick saliva dripped to the floor from a maw full of sharp fangs and teeth. It was almost as large as its owner and black as pitch, the fur bristled and resembling velvet. A huge spiked collar was wrapped around its muscled neck, but the restraint of the beast did nothing to ease her. She knew for a fact that this would be where she met her end. Met her mother in the next life. Unlike her predecessors, she feared death and especially at the hands of this being.

"Where is the prophecy?" the ancient, gravelly voice asked.

"I will _not_ tell," she spoke up, proud that her voice didn't wobble.

"Foolish girl!" the figure snapped, the flames under the cloak flaring. "What will your infernal pride accomplish?"

"You will _not_ rule the Earth! It is not _yours_!"

"It _will_ be mine, _stupid Seer_."

The walls and floor groaned, debris shaking free from the ceiling and falling down around them. It was just like an earthquake, but she knew better. She had angered the being. Angered him so much, his power was starting to leak and reach out for her. The flames under the figure's cloak whipped around, surrounding him and slowly morphing into dark-blue and black. The hound at his side gave a continuous deep growl and edged forward, but was caught by the leash. Still, she stepped back. She didn't know why; there was nowhere for her to run or hide, and the figure was quite aware of that.

" _Mortuus_ ," he rumbled, voice changing and taking on a demonic tone.

A sudden whip of black flame shot towards her and wrapped securely around her neck, causing her hood to fall back and her hands to immediately come up and grapple for a way to get it off. Her fingers went right through it, but the flame began crushing her throat, stripping her of air and making her eyes bulge wildly. She could do nothing but flail and slowly succumb to the inevitable.

"You..will not...have the...Earth...Nether...world...scum!" she choked.

" _Nuisance_."

Her head was light and lungs struggling to draw in air, but it was useless. Her hands fell to her sides limply as her eyelids fluttered uncontrollably. Her limbs had gone numb, blood freezing in her veins and digits tingling from lack of oxygen. The last thing she heard before darkness engulfed her was the growling of the figure's hound and the figure's rolling laughter.

" _Matrem_ ," she whispered.

XOXOXO

"Have you heard, Urahara?"

Urahara sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He was exhausted. Two human months had gone by with him searching the lands for what Aizen had dubbed "extraordinary humans." He had indeed found a few, starting them with training as soon as possible. Aizen hadn't given him a time limit, but he knew better than to be unprepared at any given moment. The training he had arranged for the selected humans involved hand-to-hand combat, sword fighting, and hunting and tracking skills. So far, the results had been superb. The humans were strong and quickly adapted to whatever trials he put them through. The only difficult area had been getting them to cooperate in the first place. They hadn't believed him when he'd told them that they would be fighting for the Earth, fighting against beings that went beyond their wildest imaginations. He sighed again. The groundwork was still underway because they would also need special swords that held power from Lord Aizen himself. If not, there was no way they would be able to defeat the beings from the Netherworld.

Speaking of the Netherworld, the Master of that treacherous wasteland, Yamamoto, had been up to absolutely no good recently. If the rumor Urahara's assistant was currently asking him about was indeed true, the evil man planned to move again. And soon. The blond had tried his hardest to persuade Aizen to reawaken the storm elements, but the Keeper had steadfastly refused. He believed they wouldn't be needed if the army Urahara built was up to par.

Urahara sighed and turned to Tessai. "Yes, I've heard. It's disheartening news."

"The Seers are prepared to retreat until the next generation is groomed."

Tessai toyed with his thick mustache as he stared through the window of the small wooden structure Urahara had created as his base of operations. He was a huge man made of all hard muscle and straight lines, but had a heart that was gentle as a lamb. He was fiercely loyal, so it had been the obvious choice to have him as an assistant.

"It worries me," Urahara started carefully, setting down the sword he'd been cleaning. "If the Seers retreat into themselves, we won't have a clue of what's to come. And if the Seer Princess was truly killed by Yamamoto..." his voice trailed off as he thought of the consequences.

They would not be pleasant.

Tessai huffed and crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Her servant was the last to see her entering their ancestral cave. She never returned."

The Earth Guardian hummed and picked up the sword he'd just abandoned. He ran a cloth over it, smiling when the steel blade shone like a jewel. They had much work left to be done, but with the humans Urahara had chosen, he was optimistic for the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Protege nos – protect us  
> Salva nos – save us  
> Nobis – keep us  
> Mortuus – die  
> Matrem - mother  
> Ab Intio - from the beginning


	2. Along Came a Stranger

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

**Many Years Ahead**

Ichigo tapped a blue, ballpoint pen against the keyboard of his computer and sighed, then leaned over, resting his chin in the palm of his free hand. Two hours until check out time. Man, he couldn't wait. He was _so_ bored with his job; being an order entry clerk had to be the lamest occupation on the planet. Back and forth to the same old office, doing the same old thing, talking to the same old people. It was annoying. He sighed again and rolled his eyes shut, temples slowly beginning to ache.

"Yo, Kurosaki!"

Make that _throb_.

"What the hell, idiot? You _have_ to be that loud?"

Ichigo's red-haired co-worker gave him a huge grin that stretched his wide mouth towards his ridiculously long sideburns. The tall man shoved his hands into the pockets of his wrinkled black slacks and rocked back and forth on his heels, countenance screaming he was up to no good.

"What's a'matter, Kurosaki? Stick up yer ass?"

"Perhaps. What's it to you?"

"Ah, c'mon," the man chuckled, deep voice vibrating the walls of Ichigo's bland workspace. On second thought, make that _cubby_. The little area felt like the inside of a shoe box. "Dontcha wanna loosen up? A buncha guys're goin' ta that bar 'cross town an' they asked _me_ ta ask _you_ if ya wanted ta tag along."

"And?"

"And...d'ya wanna go er not?"

"I'll pass," Ichigo sighed, unimpressed. He wasn't in the mood to hang out with a group of guys that he didn't particularly _dislike_ , but that he didn't necessarily _like_ , either.

"Kurosaki, ya got a girlfriend er suntin'?" the man asked, his left hip jutting to the side as he placed a large hand there. The posture made Ichigo inwardly giggle.

"I don't see how that's any of your business, _Abarai_."

"Well, it ain't, but there's gotta be a reason yer such a humongous lame-wad."

Ichigo laughed aloud this time as he turned back to his computer, essentially dismissing the man in his space. "I can live with that."

"That sucks. Well, ya can't say I didn' try," Abarai said, a bit too cheerfully as he loped away.

Another glance at the clock told Ichigo the disturbing truth. Only five minutes had crept by during his little "conversation" with Renji Abarai, AKA the bane of his workplace existence. The red head managed to annoy him at every chance available, although, Ichigo didn't think Abarai knew he was being a bother. The guy probably thought he was being funny.

Go figure.

One very derisive snort later, Ichigo stood and stretched his arms over his head, back muscles tugging deliciously and spine popping into place wonderfully. He gave a huge, satisfied groan and made his way to the other side of the office, heading for the bathroom. He figured he could waste time in there since he'd finished the four assignments his boss had piled onto his desk at the start of the day. Not a very encouraging way to begin one's morning, mind you. His boss made it his personal mission to load as much work on him as he could, the pale-haired midget asshole. It was like the man had an intimate vendetta against Ichigo alone; he never went about ruining Abarai's day. Or Ikkaku's, for that matter. It was grossly unjust, but something Ichigo was used to.

The trek to the bathroom was horrendously uneventful, even though he _did_ make scary eyes with a dude that _insisted_ on being "rivals." Stupid Luppi. The little dark-haired man was retarded. Plus, he smelled like a girl. Looked like one too. Ichigo had never considered himself prejudiced, but Luppi was an exception; he gave being effeminate a whole new meaning. It was kind of disturbing, to tell the truth. If there wasn't a strict dress code in the office, Ichigo was sure the other man would come dressed in skirts and blouses, rather than the button-up shirts and slacks most men wore. In fact, once or twice, he'd seen Luppi sporting low heels instead of loafers. That had been the day he'd vowed to stay far away from the other man. However, Luppi apparently had had different plans for their interaction. At first, it had seemed like the guy had wanted to date, but Ichigo had immediately thrown that out of the window. He had _refused_ to acknowledge Luppi's shameless flirting, which probably had a hand in turning the little man into an enemy in the first place. He didn't care. He wasn't about to travel that road like...ever.

From then on, Ichigo figured Luppi had gotten the hint that he wasn't interested since the guy began getting on his ever-loving nerves. Paper from his copy machine and printer would mysteriously go missing, his computer would randomly crash and become useless (although that happened on its own as well; the boss was too fucking cheap to get new hardware), and once, his workspace had even been vandalized, spray paint covering the drab, gray walls, advertising how much of a "cock-sucker" he was. The whole situation had been pretty amusing and he'd only considered the bit of mischief as a means of entertainment. It had certainly been a pleasant deviation from the grinding boredom of order entry. But alas, all good things must come to an end. Their boss, Hitsugaya, had eventually found out that Ichigo indeed was _not_ destroying his own workspace. That had only resulted in a written up Luppi, which meant an _angrier_ Luppi. Only there was nothing the dark-haired fe-man could really do to expend that anger; all he _could_ do was glare and mutter dark things as Ichigo passed by. Infinitely more boring.

As Ichigo walked by Luppi this time, he smiled when the other man twisted his elegant lips into a disgusted sneer. It was so nice seeing their relationship remain the same: hateful on Luppi's end and indifferent on his. His feet dragged along the thin gray carpet as he slouched to the bathroom. He hated his job with a severe and intense passion. It was monotonous and dull and just completely unsatisfying. He wanted another one, but since he didn't have a degree in anything (he'd unwisely skipped college), it left him with very few options. He growled and pushed the door open, slipping inside and locking it behind himself. He wanted some privacy and didn't feel like waiting until he got home. Besides, he'd seen all the porn he kept on his laptop, so it no longer impressed him. He went into the first stall and locked that as well before leisurely unbuckling his belt and lowering his pants to his knees. He wasted no time wrapping a hand around his still sleeping dick and leaning against the wall of the stall. It was cold against his back, but he pushed that feeling aside and closed his eyes, forcing himself to conjure erotic images that would get him off. The first thing that sprang forward – funnily enough – was a broad expanse of a firm, muscled chest. Hairless and made of tan skin and sharp angles, it was magnificent. It was strange. Even though he wasn't remotely attracted to Luppi, a manly man made his mouth water and his groin react. He would never admit that aloud, though. Not that he had anyone _to_ admit that fact to, but he was just saying. If he _did_ , he still wouldn't. He was embarrassed about being attracted to men, even with society gradually accepting its existence.

However mortifying, it didn't keep him from slipping into the moment. That firm chest led down to a spectacular abdomen that rippled and danced with sexy power. From there, prominent Adonis lines added to the tantalizing picture, slowly bringing his half-hard member to its full potential. Strong thighs came into view next, sloping perfectly and leading to exquisitely defined calves. Ichigo sighed and licked his lips, throat dry. His breathing was starting to pick up as he imagined the owner of that body touching him, kissing him, moving over him and joining them where it really mattered. His heart caught up with his breathing as his hand moved over his now straining length.

Faster.

"Mm," he moaned quietly.

He used his thumb to spread the clear fluid gathered at the slit of his head, using the natural lubricant to ease the motions of his hand. The owner of that gorgeous body chuckled in Ichigo's mind, the voice he conjured, bringing him dangerously close to release. He paused stroking. He wasn't ready yet, but apparently it wasn't up to him. His dick throbbed in his palm as he tried to bring the raging sensation in his pelvis down to normal levels. Wasn't working. Eyes still screwed shut, all he could see was a wide grin full of pearly white teeth, and that ridiculous body. Large, rough hands reached forward and cupped his balls carefully before slowly rolling and massaging them. Then that same grinning mouth lowered and wrapped around his shaft and that was all she wrote for his "control." His hips jerked spastically as he spilled his orgasm into his hand. After his muscles relaxed and his breathing went back to acceptable, he grabbed some tissue and cleaned up. He fixed his pants, left the stall and went to stand in front of the sink. Once he got the water nice and warm, he washed his hands, but after wiping them on a coarse paper towel, he just stood there gaping at his reflection.

Was this what his life had come to? A boring job and jerking off in said job's bathroom? What a pitiful existence. Anyone looking into his world would tell him he needed to do something exciting for once, and the sad thing was: he agreed. Only, he didn't know what to _do_ to spice up his pathetic life.

"This sucks," he said with a sad sigh.

He eventually made his way to the door and unlocked it, amazed that no one had come and tried to bang it off the hinges. Usually he would get halfway done and have to yell at the prick (Abarai normally) to stop trying to break the door down. Today had been different. Maybe that was a sign of good luck to come? Maybe a spot of good karma for a change? As he left the bathroom and caught Luppi's eye, he changed his mind. There would be nothing good coming his way for a while, not with the way he passed the days. He hated sounding like such a whining bitch, but it was true. His life couldn't be described as even mildly interesting and that was saying something. Ever since his entire family had died in that plane crash, he hadn't had a reason to be very optimistic. In fact, his colleagues would call him a sourpuss, a pessimist. He didn't mind. Why should he? They were one hundred percent accurate.

He trooped back to his cramped workspace and plopped into the rolling desk chair in front of his computer. A glance at the clock told him that he'd successfully wasted twenty minutes since the last time he'd checked. Time was creeping by like turned over molasses and it was annoying the shit out of him. He was tempted to just leave early, but Hitsugaya would have a stroke before attacking him with more mountains of boring work. Not the ideal predicament, if you asked him. So, instead of getting up and walking out, he sat back and folded his arms over his chest, thoroughly and utterly disgusted.

With nothing better to do, he leaned forward and brought up the secret game stash on his computer. Thank God for emulators and ROMS. Everything was free. Old, but still free. He clicked into the hidden folder and dragged the Earthworm Jim ROM over to the Sega Genesis emulator. Immediately the screen showed the Genesis logo and then a beefed up earthworm with a hill billy accent. He loved that game to pieces. There was nothing better than shooting down rabid dogs, crazed crows and beating the shit out of a deranged feline. He'd been so engrossed in doing just that, he didn't see Hitsugaya coming until it was too late.

"I see you have nothing better to do, Kurosaki."

Ichigo froze, the hairs on the back of his neck and arms at full attention. _Shit_. Although he'd been caught off guard, he couldn't really say he was surprised. With his rotten luck, it had been bound to happen. He closed the program – inwardly cursing because he hadn't been able to save his progress – and swiveled in his seat to face the short, pale-haired man glaring down his nose at him. He almost laughed, but refrained only because he didn't want to lose his crappy job.

"No, Sir. I'm just finished with the assignments you gave me."

"Is that so? Well, why don't we fix that?"

 _Fucking figures_ , he thought. "Yes, Sir."

Hitsugaya marched away with a huff, stride stiff. He was such a pompous prickly little bastard. And Ichigo meant "little" quite literally. Hitsugaya couldn't be more than five feet tall, but since he was the head of the department, he felt like he owned the world. As if his shit didn't stink like everyone else's, and like there was no one he _couldn't_ treat like garbage. Irritating fucker. Ichigo stared at the dark screen of his computer and ran a hand through his spiky, wild and entirely too bright orange hair. He couldn't even consider himself a red head. It was depressing until he remembered a gentle woman with similarly colored hair and kind brown eyes. He had those same eyes. Once he thought of his deceased mother, he couldn't stay angry at his appearance. Didn't mean he had to like it, though. His body was no longer what it used to be, either. He remembered being tight in all places, muscles everywhere from his days of basketball and intense martial arts training with his idiot old man. That was one thing he appreciated about the scruffy lunatic. He'd beaten the art of Jiu Jitsu and Kendo into his brain until he'd been dreaming about them, and undefeated in his age group. He still remembered everything (there was no way he could forget), but after the accident, he'd stopped practicing. Stopped training. Stopped caring. He was a hollow shell, and nothing could fill the yawning emptiness inside. Shaking away the depressing train of thought, he focused on Hitsugaya making his way back to his workspace.

 _This guy_...

"You can have these entered into the database by tomorrow since you're so bored, Kurosaki."

"What?" Ichigo shouted, forgetting himself for a moment and allowing his temper to shine through.

Hitsugaya had casually slapped a pile about a foot tall onto his desk and expected it to be done by tomorrow? No fucking way.

"Is there a problem?"

The look in those aqua eyes made him grit his teeth and turn his hands into tight fists. _Asshole, asshole, asshole!_ his mind chanted happily. There was only an hour left in his day, but with a workload the likes of which reclined on his desk like the devil itself, he wouldn't get home until it was time to be at work again. He turned away from his boss, tempted – oh, was he tempted – to wrap his hands around the tiny shit's throat and squeeze until there was nothing left. Did that make him a psycho? Well, he certainly felt like one. There was no way he would be able to get this done in one night, let alone one fucking hour.

Hitsugaya strutted away, and Ichigo swore all the man needed were green and blue feathers and he'd be a dead ringer for a swaggering peacock. _Piece of shit_ , he silently fumed. _He knows I can't get this shit done by tonight_. Ichigo clicked the screen into awareness and dove into the ridiculous workload. Maybe he'd make it home by midnight if he was lucky.

**XxxxxxX**

One o'clock in the morning found Ichigo stumbling out of the tall building that housed his lousy job. Now he just had to make the half-hour journey home, shower, maybe eat and crash before waking up to do it all. Over. Again. Talk about depressing. It made him sulk down the dark, deserted street, chin touching his chest almost. He was exhausted, his back ached from sitting in one spot for so long, and a headache was stabbing his temples with very sharp, very pointy objects. Every step he took seemed to add to the agony, but he managed to persevere with thoughts of a hot shower and his warm, inviting bed. His apartment wasn't the best (a small, one bedroom), but it was his and it was home.

Cars grumbled in the distance, the wind creaked the branches of the few surrounding trees, and leaves skittered along the pavement. The rustling noise made Ichigo tug on the collar of his black pea coat and hurry his tired body along. Making this trip at a time like this was entirely different from doing it during early evening rush hour. Every sound seemed like someone was following him. Like the dry leaves were footsteps and the wind was whispering voices. It gave him goosebumps. He'd never been a paranoid person before, but walking home at one in the morning was enough to give a creepy sensation to anyone. A sudden gust of wind swept his gray scarf across the lower half of his face and tousled his hair. Was it him, or had the temperature just dropped drastically? Ichigo blew out a deep breath and was startled to see it fog in front of him. Was that normal? He picked up the pace, feet hurting inside stifling black dress shoes, but he really couldn't care less at the moment. Whatever was going on had an ominous ring to it, and like he'd mentioned before, he didn't have the best of karma. It would be just his luck to get mugged or killed on his way home from the workday from hell, brought to him courtesy of a midget with an ego the size of Mars.

" _Bellator_."

Ichigo stopped mid-stride and whirled in place. What...the fuck? He searched the streets desperately, but there was nothing he could see. Everything was deserted and empty. Deathly silent. Heart rate climbing, he turned and started walking again. Much faster than before. In fact, one would say he was jogging. He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag as he jog-walked towards his apartment. He was still around fifteen minutes away and that was disheartening. Had he been imagining things when he'd heard a voice? Maybe he had, but his gut instinct told him he hadn't.

Shuffling and more whispering. " _Oportet eum_."

This time, he swung around and glared into the distance. "Who's there?" he shouted, voice cracking.

Yes, it was a typical scary movie blunder, but he wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with a stalker or whoever was obviously following him. He was tired, irritated and hungry: a lethal combination if he ever saw one. Of course, he didn't see anyone and no one spoke up, which left him feeling particularly stupid. _Did you really think they were going to speak to you, idiot?_ he chided himself as he continued his walk.

This time a cold tendril of air curled like a lover's touch against the nape of his neck, right below his hairline. Terrified and not even caring that it showed, he took off running. He wasn't losing his mind; someone _was_ fucking with him. The air was downright icy now, his breaths puffing in front of him in little clouds as he sprinted down the street. And then something in his peripheral made him pull up short, staring in disbelief. Ice slowly spread over the pavement and crept up the trees along the sidewalk. It even cracked its way up the side of surrounding buildings. On second thought, maybe he _was_ losing his mind because there was no way he was seeing what his eyes _told_ him he was seeing.

" _Ultima bello_."

The voice that reminded Ichigo of shifting hay made him remember that he'd been running, and that he should _still_ be running. Yeah, that was a good idea at this point. Arms and legs pumping wildly, lungs burning and tongue dry as vellum, he sped home. The whole time it felt like someone was right on his heels, like someone kept brushing his neck and whispering in his ear. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was absolutely petrified. His limbs trembled and his heart apparently didn't know the meaning of calm down. He was in a right state, but that was expected. He was being chased by God knew what, and it couldn't be his imagination. Sadly, he was too boring to be _that_ creative. Not to mention, some weird shit was going on. _Seriously? Ice stretching forth like the staff of Moses?_ He didn't think so. He was _not_ losing his mind. He _wasn't_.

Finally, his apartment came into view and his heart did the Electric Slide. He fell into a manic sprint, eyes tearing and breath still misting. He skidded to a stop in front of the entrance, only taking time to yank open one of the glass double doors before falling into the lobby. The guard at the front desk jerked, Ichigo obviously having caught the man sleeping on the job. He didn't even give the older brunet a second glance, silently avoiding that silvery gray gaze as he hustled to the elevator. He stabbed the call button, overly grateful when the doors automatically dinged open. He stepped inside and collapsed against the wall, hand involuntarily going to his chest over his heart. He was still panting, still shaking, still mind-fucked. He really wanted to think about what had just occurred, wanted to reflect on the madness he'd just witnessed, but his brain was through cooperating with him for the day. It was like the center of his intelligence had thrown up a closed sign and gone on vacation. All he could do was gather himself as he rode to the tenth floor, cold sweat sliding under his collar and down his back. He had to have a monumental amount of bad luck to have gone through that walk from hell. Well, run, if he was being technical. Again, his mind had closed up shop, so thinking coherently was out of the question. Ichigo blew out a forceful breath and ran a trembling hand through his now damp hair. As the elevator opened, all he could concentrate on was a hot shower and his bed. Maybe he'd wake up thinking this whole thing had been a dream.

He trudged down the hall to his apartment, scarf askew and hair a bedraggled mess. He extracted his key from the depths of his coat pocket and unlocked the door before flinging himself inside. There he whipped around and threw the locks, deadbolt and all. His body moved on instinct to the lamp a few feet from the door, but before he could make it there, it came on by itself. Ichigo froze and stared at it, afraid to move, afraid to lift his eyes to the shadow standing across the room. Was this really happening? Had he been such an asshole in his previous life, fate decided to bring the consequences to him in this one? What the hell?

Slowly, he let his head raise, followed by his eyes. They honed in on a man standing near his living room window. The curtains were pulled tightly shut, the blinds closed as well, but what really caught his attention was the guy's attire. He wore what looked like a hunter green toga, a gold band wrapped around his right arm and strange wooden sandals on his feet. Wasn't it cold outside? What was with this man?

Blond hair was styled into a strange do, bangs forming a weird little fork in the middle of his brow. Dark eyes peered at Ichigo from across the room, laughing and entirely too amused for a serious situation such as this.

"Who...in the _fuck_...are _you_?" he asked.

"Ah-ha-ha. Well. You're not quite what I expected," the man replied, voice a teasing tenor.

"And _you_ didn't answer me."

"Hmm. Your father was much more polite."

Ichigo gaped, floored. "What did you say?"

"Ah, Kurosaki, would you like to know what was following you home?"

He didn't know exactly where to start since the man's statements were all over the place, but that seemed good enough for the time being. Especially because Ichigo wanted to know how this strange man knew he'd been followed in the first place. Had he hired the person?

"Yeah, that'd be nice, actually."

The blond man nodded and took a step forward, his toga thing swishing quietly. What the hell was he _wearing_? "They are called Norwhuls."

With that being said, Ichigo hung his head and chuckled. Then he took off his shoes before dragging himself down the short hall to his bedroom. He wasn't mentally prepared to deal with whatever was happening to him. Some crazy asshole had broken into his home _after_ hiring _another_ crazy asshole to chase him home with unbelievable special effects. Now he was supposed to believe the trash that idiot was spouting? No thank you, and fuck you very much.

He was going to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellator – the warrior
> 
> Oportet eum – we must take him
> 
> Ultima bello – the last warrior


	3. Warrior's Son

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

XOXOXO

He stared at the wall across from his bed as he lay on his side, gritting his teeth and trying his damnedest to ignore the presence in his bedroom. He burrowed beneath his blanket even more until the soft material was touching his chin. One would think an already crappy day could get no worse, right?

Wrong.

There were no excuses for what was going on except that he might be a bit burnt out. He'd hallucinated his way home from work, only to get inside his apartment and be greeted by a creepy stranger, who looked like he'd just stumbled his way out of a toga party. Ichigo couldn't figure out why he had such bad karma. What the hell had he done in his past life to deserve this?

"Seventy-four bottles of beer on the wall, seventy-four bottles of beer!"

Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in his pillow. What madness. The blond man impersonating Zeus was insane and _rude_ to boot. He didn't care one iota that he'd invaded Ichigo's personal space and was currently driving him _fucking_ nuts.

"Seventy-three bottles of beer on the wall, seventy-three bottles of beer! Ya take one down and pass it around-"

"Alright!" Ichigo shouted into his pillow. He removed his face and slowly turned onto his back, where he glared at the ceiling. "Alright. I'll listen to your fairy tale – I mean, story."

The blond man grinned, deep gray eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ah, that's better! Where shall I begin?"

"Start with why the hell you're in my fucking apartment. That'd be nice."

"Hmm. This is harder than I thought it would be. Oh, I know! I'll start with your father. Do you know why he was so into martial arts and combat?"

Ichigo sat up in his bed and finally gave the blond stranger his full attention. What the hell did this creep know about his old man?

"No, not really. He never really explained the whys of what he did, and I sort of just went along with it."

"I see. Well, now your ignorance of what happened to you earlier is understandable. Your father was well aware of who I am, and what Norwhuls are. I wanted to wait to approach you, but it appears that time is not on my side in this instance."

"Okayyyy...you can go ahead and start clarifying shit whenever you want. You don't have to hold back," Ichigo stated with a blank face.

The man grinned and produced a small, Japanese paper fan from his toga thing. He flipped it open and began waving it back and forth past his face.

"I am Kisuke Urahara, the Earth Guardian. I'm in charge of an army of humans who are born to protect the Earth from evil. You are a descendant of a soldier of that army, Ichigo."

Ichigo stared at the man, mouth slowly falling open. How much more was he supposed to endure? This was laughable, but far from believable. There was no way this could be true. His life wasn't a fucking movie, and it damned sure wasn't a comic book, either, no matter how much he might wish otherwise. So, why did this lunatic think it was OK to break into his home with an outlandish story? Did this crazy think Ichigo was really about to believe him?

"Dude...are you off your meds or something?"

The Kisuke guy stopped grinning and hung his head in defeat. But it only lasted a few moments before his head was up and his dark eyes were staring at Ichigo, intimidating as hell. He put away his fan and climbed to his feet, then snapped the fingers of his left hand. He held his hand out, palm up, and right before Ichigo's eyes, a ball of blazing golden light formed within it. It got bigger and bigger until it was the size of a basketball before levitating into the air and hovering over the Kisuke guy's hand. Ichigo watched it like it was about to shoot over and eat him. He didn't know what to expect, but he was sure it was going to be bad.

Suddenly, the ball exploded, sending streaks of light scattering around Ichigo's bedroom. Instead of disappearing, however, the streaks morphed into dime-sized points of light, suspended in midair. Finally, after a few beats of breathless anticipation, Ichigo jolted as the points of light exploded yet again, this time producing small, holographic screens bathed in a dim yellow glow. On each screen passed a moment of Ichigo's life from the time he was a baby. It was disconcerting to say the least.

"What the fuck?" he breathed as his eyes darted from screen to screen. "What the hell am I seeing right now?"

"This would be your life as you know it."

Ichigo supposed the most disturbing part of this situation was the screen that showed him holed up in the bathroom at his job, enthusiastically jerking off. He flushed with embarrassment, but refused to look over at the Kisuke guy. This was so far beyond insane, it was damned near scary. _No, scratch that_ , he thought. _This shit IS fucking scary_.

"I-I can't...I don't even...I don't know what to say," he muttered as he turned to yet another screen.

This one almost made him choke up. It was him as a toddler, dancing with his mom. She was smiling and laughing, her eyes practically aglow, and _fuck this shit_! But another screen distracted him from the tirade he was about to perform. It was him in high school on the basketball court. He was masterfully dribbling the ball past opponent after opponent, a smug grin plastered across his face. He'd been happy. He'd been in his element.

But he'd still had a family back then, too.

The last scene to catch his attention was of him and his old man in the training room of their old home. Ichigo was swinging a practice sword at his father's head, watching as the older man demonstrated how to block the blow. This was ridiculous. But...there was no denying that it was real. He wasn't sleeping, even if he wanted to convince himself that he _was_. So, that meant that the crap the Kisuke guy had been spouting was at least somewhat truthful.

OK, he was officially depressed.

"Alright, I get it," he said softly, swiping at one of the screens closest to him. It displayed another scene of himself and his old man training. His hand went right through the screen, distorting it at the same time. "Make these go away. Please."

The Kisuke guy didn't say anything, but Ichigo heard another snap, and suddenly, the screens were gone, his bedroom dark again. The Kisuke guy – Ichigo supposed he could just go ahead and call him Kisuke – reached over to Ichigo's night table and turned on the lamp. A long silence descended and seemed to linger forever, but Ichigo quickly grew tired of it. He needed some answers.

"So what does all of this mean? You...you say my dad was a soldier protecting the Earth from evil. How come I never saw proof of this?"

Kisuke thinned his lips as he produced his fan again. As it waved past his face, he studied Ichigo until his face brightened as though he'd had an epiphany.

"Each generation is trained like the last, but there hasn't been a need for the army in over four hundred years," he said.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess." Ichigo took a breath as he scratched the back of his head. "So, what am I supposed to do now? And what the hell is a Nor-vul?"

" _Norwhul_. They are the undead minions of the Netherworld. They wreak havoc upon the Earth whenever they can, and they have been sent here to kill you, ensuring that the prophecy predicting your coming would not occur."

"...Excuse me?"

"Ichigo, I need you to focus. This is important, and we do not have the luxury of time."

"OK, and who's fault is that, I wonder?"

Kisuke smirked. "Mine entirely. I had not anticipated that Yamamoto would discover the prophecy."

"Er...who's that?" Ichigo asked, hoping he didn't sound as dumb as he felt.

"Yamamoto is the commander of the Netherworld. He was banished there for trying to rebel against Lord Aizen."

"Dude, you're just dropping names like I understand who the fuck you're talking about."

Kisuke outright laughed at that as he nodded. "Yes, I understand. I will try to explain as I go along. Now, let me see... Ah, yes. Lord Aizen is the Keeper, or you might comprehend it better as 'the ruler of all.' He is the being who oversees all of our worlds: Earth, the Netherworld, and of course, the world where Lord Aizen himself resides, Argulus."

"OK," Ichigo nodded. "And where are these places?"

"Argulus is a realm above the clouds, not visible to the human eye, and the Netherworld is a realm deep in the bowels of the Earth. It's a morose land, filled with despair and suffering. It's a sad place, Ichigo. No human has ever gone there and lived."

"So, it's like Hell, then?"

Kisuke tilted his head in obvious curiosity. "Hell?"

"You mean, I know something that you don't?"

Ichigo grinned as he watched Kisuke flounder. Finally, the blond man arched a brow. "I recall what it is now. It is a myth, fashioned after the Netherworld. Just as 'Heaven' is fashioned after Argulus."

Well, there went his moment of triumph.

"OK, so that leaves what I'm expected to do from here. I have no idea what's going on except for the fact that I was chased home by some spooky shit I've never even heard of. By the way, what's this prophecy they're supposedly trying to prevent from coming true?"

Kisuke sighed as he moved to the other side of the room near the window. "There is a race of humans who are magical. They live much longer than the average human being, and they are able to see the future. They are called Seers."

"Makes sense."

"Yes, well, four hundred years ago, the Seer princess was killed after hiding a very important prophecy from Yamamoto. Since then, the Seers went into seclusion, refusing to further aid me in my endeavors. It was fine as long as the prophecy was kept out of the hands of evil. But now, the Seer ancestral tombs have been breached, the prophecy discovered. The Seers were betrayed, but have since dealt with their traitor."

"And this all-important prophecy is...what...exactly?"

"It speaks of the coming of a lone warrior whose destiny is to awaken the four Storm Element gods, in order to prevent Yamamoto from integrating the Netherworld with the Earth, and thus overtaking it."

"And you think this warrior is me?" Ichigo asked, baffled. "Why?"

"Well, it speaks of hair as bright as the sun, and eyes the color of earth. It also speaks of 'he who has lost his way and travels the path of life alone.' Does that not sound familiar?"

Ichigo cringed. His damned hair had finally gotten him into a heap of trouble. He had to admit that the "prophecy" seemed rather spot on. His hair was awfully bright, and even though it wasn't exactly yellow, it could still be compared to the intensity of the sun. His eyes were brown, like earth, AKA dirt, and he did travel through life alone now that his family was gone. It made sense that Kisuke would come to him.

"Are there a lot of these warriors who're supposed to protect the Earth from evil?"

Kisuke hung his head and frowned, which honestly, disturbed the hell out of Ichigo. What was that supposed to mean? When it seemed like Kisuke wasn't in any particular rush to answer the question, Ichigo cleared his throat in a very obnoxious manner, knowing it would get the man's attention.

"They have been lost. Their swords have been destroyed, as have their families. There are only two others surviving."

"Well, that sucks. How'd all of them die?"

Kisuke turned away from the window to face Ichigo, his dark eyes haunted. "Yamamoto was on a very narrow war path after he discovered the prophecy. He sought to rid the Earth of all of its warriors, ensuring his success. I was blindsided, and by the time I realized what was going on, I was only able to recover two warriors."

Ichigo rubbed his chin in thought. While that was utterly depressing and left him no hope for whatever the future held, he still had a few things on his mind.

"Am I going to meet these other two warriors?"

"Yes, but first, we need to get you your sword."

"My sword?"

"Yes, you heard correctly. All warriors are assigned a sword at birth by Lord Aizen. If you are to fight the Norwhuls and awaken the Storm Element gods, you will need it with you. I'm assuming you remember how to handle a sword."

It didn't really sound like a question to Ichigo, but then again, it didn't really need to. Kisuke already knew so much about Ichigo and his father that he should already know the answer. Still...

"Sure, I remember how to handle one. Doesn't mean I'm in any kind of shape to do so, though."

Kisuke had the audacity to laugh. Ichigo, on the other hand, didn't find a thing about his situation funny. In fact, he found it rather daunting that he was expected to just up and fight without any kind of refresher course.

"Don't worry about it, Ichigo. I assure you, you'll get the hang of things in no time. So, shall we go?"

"What?"

Without repeating what he'd said, Kisuke strode over to Ichigo and placed a hand on his shoulder. After that, all Ichigo remembered was darkness.

**XxxxxxX**

When he came to, they were in a cave. At least it looked like a cave. It was dark and smelled like old rain and mold. There were torches affixed to the jagged-looking walls, and Ichigo could swear he saw bats hanging from the uneven ceiling. Just what was this place?

"Follow me, Ichigo."

Ah, there was Kisuke in all his toga-sporting glory. Ichigo wasn't sure what to think. He was still wearing his pajamas, which consisted of worn, black lounge pants and a white t-shirt. He was in no way prepared for any kind of battle. Really, he just wanted to go back home and go to bed. He wanted to wake up in the morning and realize that this had all been a weird dream born from stress. That's what he wanted. But as he looked around, it dawned on him that that was far from what he was going to get. He sighed, the action filled with dejection.

Such was his life.

He followed the blond deeper into the cave, careful not to step on anything that might traumatize him or give him the willies. He was barefoot, after all. They moved on in silence for a long few minutes until they reached a humongous door. This thing had to be about twenty feet tall and equally wide. How the fuck were they supposed to get through this? Last he checked, he didn't walk around with any giant battering rams. The notion was almost lost to him, when Kisuke suddenly knocked on the door twice. Oh, sure, why hadn't he thought of that? Knock on the door. Someone just might answer it.

He chuckled to himself, but was abruptly cut off as the door groaned like a ghost before slowly rolling up towards the high ceiling. At this point, nothing should have surprised him, but still everything managed to. He watched as the door disappeared, revealing something he never would have expected. A brightly lit corridor yawned before them like a mysterious chasm. It was like they were entering an entirely different world compared to the cave behind them. The floor ahead looked like it was made of pure, off-white marble, the ceiling and walls of silver and gold. Where there had been torches along the cave walls, there were light fixtures along the walls of this corridor. Large portraits of men Ichigo had never before seen in his life also hung from the walls. But the men looked important. They were dressed in formal wear, and there was a name underneath each portrait. Were these the past warriors? Would his old man's portrait be here too? Suddenly, he was anxious to find out.

The cave had been a bit chilly, but this place was warm, almost inviting. As Ichigo followed Kisuke past the threshold of the door, his head swiveled back and forth, taking in all of the portraits, wondering if his old man had known these men, wondering if _he_ would one day have his own face hanging from one of these walls.

"Kisuke, are these the old warriors?" he asked.

Kisuke hummed as they moved at a slightly hurried pace. He didn't exactly answer, so Ichigo assumed he'd guessed right.

 _Otome Yonko. Richard Bevel. Farid Patel. Alex Romanov. Johan Schmidt_.

The portraits and names went on for as far as Ichigo could see. It was astonishing. How could no one know about this place? But then again, if Kisuke traveled the way they had with everyone else that he brought here, then it was quite understandable why no one had discovered this place. Speaking of which, where exactly were they?

"Hey, Kisuke."

"This is the warrior headquarters. I call it the Argulus Society."

"But-"

"You need not know, Ichigo. I will give you the tools necessary for your journey and introduce you to the other warriors. If you get into trouble during your excursion, your sword will lead you here, have no doubt. Now, come. The others have been awaiting your arrival since yesterday."

Ichigo was stunned silent. What other choice did he have but to listen to Kisuke's orders? He was in an unfamiliar place, on his way to meet unfamiliar people. What had been a totally crappy day was morphing into a truly mind-boggling one.

A few minutes rolled by, Ichigo still observing the surrounding portraits and decorations, but not long after that, Kisuke came to a stop in front of yet another large door. This one, however, looked like someone actually cared about its well-being. Another series of knocks, and the door slid upwards. It sounded as if it was operated by a chain mechanism if Ichigo judged by the "clink-clink" noises it made as it moved. Once it was opened, he was surprised yet again. This room held several long wooden tables with accompanying chairs. At the front of the enormous room was a raised platform, where yet another long table rested. The walls of this room were dressed with hunter-green and gold banners and drapes, and suits of armor stood before them, proudly holding up flags with matching colors. The insignia on the middle of each flag was a sword surrounded by an intricate swirl pattern. Ichigo tilted his head as he studied it. It looked eerily familiar.

As they moved further into the room, his eyes landed on a pair of people that raised his eyebrows. They were extremely intimidating compared to...well, compared to himself. One of them was a man, who was seated at the edge of the platform, a slick smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. He had long, dark hair worn in the strangest style. Ichigo was sure those were bells on the ends of the weird-looking spikes. He had an eye patch over his right eye, and the left looked like it had just barely escaped the same fate if the long scar slicing through the left side of the man's face was any indication. The eye itself was a tiny, gray pin prick of terror. The guy seemed bulky, even while he was sitting, grinning at Ichigo like Ichigo was bait, and he was a shark. He had on a dark hoodie, a dark shirt underneath and dark jeans. Frightening shit, actually.

The girl standing beside him with her arms folded across her ample chest appeared equally menacing. She would have been beautiful if she'd thought to smile at least once. But then again, who was to say since the lower half of her face was covered by a jade-green bandana. Her hair was a golden blonde, short up top with two long ponytails in the back. Her shape was out of this world, and she wore a pair of cut-off, denim shorts, dark leggings underneath, high-top combat boots, a dark, long-sleeved t-shirt and a sleeveless, red hoodie. Her eyes were a piercing gemstone green, and she looked like she took shit from no one. Like ever. Kisuke turned to him and smiled as they came to a stop a few feet away from the pair.

"Ichigo, let me introduce you to the two remaining warriors aside from yourself. The girl here is Tier Halibel. She prefers to be called Halibel. And the young man is Kenpachi Zaraki. He likes to be called Kenny." Kisuke turned to the pair. "Kenny, Halibel, this is Ichigo."

"He's scrawny. Where'd you dig him up?" the man rumbled.

Ichigo was instantly offended. He was far from scrawny. Just because this guy was just shy of matching weight with an army tank, it didn't make Ichigo _scrawny_.

"Hey!" he snapped.

"He is out of shape, Kisuke," Halibel said quietly. Although, Ichigo couldn't tell if her words were just muffled by the bandana. "He will hold us back."

"Now, this is just fucking rude, OK!" Ichigo argued. He didn't even know these people, yet here they were passing judgment on him. "I didn't ask to be here. So fucking what if I'm out of shape? I had a very comfortable life that didn't involve fighting evil and trying to save the world like Captain fucking Planet, thank you very much!"

To hell with their "scrawny" and "out of shape."

Kenpachi tipped his head back and cracked up. His laughter echoed throughout the room, and if Ichigo hadn't been so pissed off, he might have joined him. Halibel gave Kenpachi a scathing look before turning back to Ichigo.

"Now, now," Kisuke hurriedly interjected with both hands held out in front of him. "There's no need for tempers. We all know what's at stake here, so let's behave like mature humans, OK?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes, which only seemed to draw more chuckles from the giant on the stage. Ichigo was this close to demanding that Kisuke take him the hell home. He didn't need to put up with these people and their arrogance. Like he'd said: he didn't even want to be there.

"Whatever," he grumbled.

"Well, at least he's got spirit. I'd hate to be stuck on a mission with a stick in the mud."

Kenpachi again. He was grinning from ear to ear now, and it did nothing to calm Ichigo down. He was still a little peeved about the scrawny comment, let alone the out of shape one.

"Ichigo, I'll take you to your sword now. Will you two behave until we return?" Kisuke asked.

The pair didn't answer, didn't nod or anything. Just how rude were they? Kisuke had asked a simple question, and they'd ignored the man as if he hadn't even spoken to begin with. Ichigo had a bad feeling about this journey he was supposed to take with the couple from Hell. Kisuke led him off to the side of the raised platform, where another door was located, this one not as big as the others. All it took was a twist of a handle to swing it open. They stepped through, and Ichigo immediately found himself descending a set of ancient-looking stone stairs. They wound downward in a spiral, making him dizzy the longer they walked. How far down were they supposed to go?

The stairwell was lit by torches like the cave had been, and the air had a musty scent to it that made Ichigo's eyes water and his nose itch. He was ready to be done with the stairs and had opened his mouth to complain about them, when Kisuke announced that they had reached their destination. Ichigo hopped from the last stair and glanced around, not very impressed with what he was seeing. It was a dank room filled with cobwebs and long glass cases. All of them appeared empty.

"What is this, Kisuke?"

"This is the room where the warriors' swords are stored until they reach the age to acquire them. It's also why most of the cases are empty."

"Ah."

There was row on top of row of cases, and Ichigo didn't know how the hell Kisuke expected to find anything in this mess. There were no names from what he could see. Nothing that might identify to whom what sword belonged. And then, Ichigo noticed the blond man chanting, his eyes closed. Whether he was talking to himself or _what_ was yet to be seen, and honestly, Ichigo didn't really want to interrupt...whatever it was the man was up to.

After a few minutes of walking and Kisuke's mutterings, they came to stop beside a particularly dusty case. It was coated with the stuff to the point where it was impossible for Ichigo to see what was inside. Kisuke ran a finger over a silver latch and smiled, his eyes slowly opening.

"Here we are, Ichigo."

A sudden case of butterflies erupted in his gut as he turned to the nondescript case. At first glance, it seemed uninteresting and just like the others, but when he looked closer, he noticed a pattern engraved in the glass. It gave him goosebumps. He'd seen this pattern before too many times in his old man's study. He'd been snooping, wondering why his father would hole himself up in the room some nights for hours at a time. He hadn't been able to find anything that might have given him any answers, but there had been a weird scroll-looking thing in a wood-framed glass case on his dad's desk. There had been some writing on it, but he hadn't been able to read it at that age. He did, however, remember that pattern being engraved on the case, just like this one. And Ichigo suddenly remembered where he'd seen the insignia from the hall they'd just left. His old man had had a folded up flag in the bottom drawer of his desk with that very same symbol.

Things were making a lot more sense now.

Ichigo reached out and ran a finger through the dust, jumping when that finger tingled with warmth. What the hell was that? Only one way to find out. He carefully undid the latch and let the cover of the case creak open. He peered inside, holding his breath and not knowing what to expect. What he saw made him exhale a whistle. There was indeed a sword nestled in the case. The sheath was pitch black, as was the Swastika shaped hilt, but the handle was sprinkled with silver. The sword rested on a deep purple, velvet cloth. Ichigo was amazed at what he was seeing. He wanted to grab the sword and swing it around just for the hell of it, but something told him to have more respect for the gorgeous weapon. He gently lifted the sword out of the case, and once it was in hand, the tingling warmth flared all over his body before settling into a low humming energy that coursed through his very blood. It was invigorating.

"Kisuke," he called, although his voice came out as a whisper.

The blond moved closer, but didn't say anything. Ichigo took that as permission to go on.

"Please tell me this is mine," he breathed, eyes still helplessly glued to the sword. "Please."

"Do you wish to wield it, Ichigo?"

"Hell yes. It's perfect."

"Good. It is yours, made for you at birth. Keep it close at all times, and handle it with care."

Ichigo nodded, his mind far away from what Kisuke was telling him. He was too enthralled with the sword that seemed to automatically become an extension of his right arm. He'd never held a sword that made him feel so...so _complete_. He smiled and eased the sword from its sheath. The gleaming onyx-colored blade made his heart shudder and his blood sing. It was made like Japanese katana, the blade itself two shades of black. The top layer was pitch like obsidian, and the lower layer was just a tad lighter. The blade had triangle shaped grooves in it that were outlined with the same silver of its handle. The sword was absolutely divine.

Ichigo slipped the sword back into its sheath and held it at his side. When he was finally able to focus on Kisuke, he wore a smile so big, it was almost hurting his face. Even if he was still having a hard time believing everything that Kisuke had told him, this... _this_ gave him a purpose.


End file.
